


Choke

by TheVeryLastValkyrie



Series: And They Fell Like Dominoes [4]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeryLastValkyrie/pseuds/TheVeryLastValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of a filthy rich boy and a clever dick girl at one of the world's most prestigious universities; of cheap wine and red plush; of betrayal, and bad blood, and her reading glasses. This time, she calls him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choke

**Author's Note:**

> Migrated from my Tumblr. Here be F words, and a lot of other words besides.

“The three Inseparables.”

She names and calls their name into question with the quirk of a sharply pointed, freshly plucked eyebrow, with the purse of her lips around the barrel of her pen. Without taking her eyes off them, she slowly moves it in and out. The plastic clacks against her teeth; she isn’t looking to allure, but seduction is so much a part of her nature by twenty years of age that it’s hard to say if she fully understands what she’s up to. Cheap pen or rich cock, it might all be the same to Annie…or it might not. It depends who you listen to (and how much he’s had to drink when he reels off the Ballad of Ollie and Annie, screwing up his eyes against the sound of his own voice).

“Milady.”

“Annabelle.”

But he only grunts, the upturned collar of his coat smelling of cigarettes and smacking of a hangover. Depending on who you listen to, and on what day of the week, the police asked Annie who was to blame for the thin red line around her throat, and she wouldn’t say. It’s white now, and she still won’t say, so it’s anybody’s guess whether she asked Ollie to choke her and whether she liked it if he did. It’s anybody’s guess, and nobody’s business.

He puts his shoulder to the panelled wall (eight hundred years of progress, the same fucking wooden chocolate boxes with their edges worn away by students). It’s still raw, his heart, a piece of meat that leaps in his chest and keeps time with that fucking pen in her mouth. It’s Annie. It’s always Annie (it’s Annie, Annie, Annie).

“Ollie isn’t looking at me,” she says quietly, to but not to Ollie. “Shall I make him?”

She can’t afford to buy bread for toast, but at least she’s over the speed bump of tears. They came, for two days and nights, soaking the forget-me-not pattern on her pillow, and now they’ve gone. Now, there’s a pit inside her, and whatever fills it up is certainly something a hooray with an old school tie could drown in. Her sweater is thin and pale grey, and she shivers because he’s standing there (and thanks God he doesn’t see, and that God isn’t watching either). Thank God he isn’t listening, so he can’t hear the rasp in her voice that comes from her slowly healing larynx. Bastard. Bastard son of a bitch. Bastard son of a bitch, from a dynasty of wankers who shit on people like her.

“Shall I show him why he should look at me?” The pen comes free with an obscene little sound of wetness.

The Inseparables exchange glances.

“Do you really think I could forget who you are –” Because he’s a bastard full stop, no old school tie necessary. “And what you did?”

Because he’s Ollie. He's always Ollie (he’s Ollie, Ollie, Ollie), and she’d let him choke her for longer if it’d change his mind.


End file.
